Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
PRESENT DAY
When I wake, the sun is dipping low, painting the unfamiliar room with streaks of golds and oranges. For a moment I don’t remember where I am, until the weight pressing against my back reminds me.
Will.
His arm is draped across my waist, his body curled around mine from behind. I can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest, steady and warm.
Panic slices through my ribcage like a knife.
What are we doing?
I lie as still as possible, careful not to wake him. I try to tell myself this doesn’t mean anything, that me being here—him asking me to stay—was just exhaustion. Fear.
We were both practically delirious.
I was the one who happened to be here. That’s it.
I slide out from under him just enough to grab my phone from my pocket and check the time. It’s just after six.
We’ve been asleep for hours, but there are no missed calls. The worst hasn’t happened. It won’t.
I close my eyes and draw in a shallow breath. Outside, the world keeps turning, unchanged, but in here, everything feels different.
Behind me, Will stirs. He inhales deeply, rubbing his hand down his face. I glance over. Right now, with messy hair and bright blue eyes peeking out from behind dark lashes, he looks impossibly human—intense and soft all at once.
I want to run. The urge hits me like lightning, the desire to vanish into the safety of being alone. Protecting my heart.
And yet, I also want to lean back, to feel the steady weight of him holding me, to see if his arms tighten. If he asks me, even without words, to stay for longer.
I swallow the conflict down. Sleep, fear, and relief tangle together, making every thought slow and sharp all at once.
I’m struck by a truth I hadn’t expected, an answer to a question that haunted me earlier.
If our roles were reversed, if it was Mom who was sick, Will would never allow me to feel left out. Even if I tried, he would never let me pull away. He’d drag me back. Despite everything, despite how much we hate each other, Will would make sure I never lost my place in this family.
I know this like I know I need oxygen to survive and like I know the way to Mom’s house. He’s a constant, even if I’ve spent my life wishing he wasn’t. Even now, as fear claws at my throat, I want to cling to that. To him.
His words from yesterday come rushing back to me. No one is allowed to be mean to you, except me.
Why, then, do I feel the safest here? With him?
This feeling’s always been there. Hidden, maybe. An invisible tether that connects us. Somewhere deep down. Steady. Solid. Here.
I want to tell him. To ask if he feels it too, but my voice is small and locked in my throat. Because if he says no, if I’m alone or sleep-deprived or confused, I lose the very ground I’m standing on.
I lose my family.
Slowly, his eyes open and search the room, landing on me once, twice, and a third time before he props himself up on his arm. “What time is it?”
“After six,” I tell him.
His eyes bounce to the window, then back to me. “You stayed.”
I swallow. “You asked me to.” Something warms in his expression, and I feel it deep in my chest. Ice forms under my skin, spreading like a freezing pond. “I, uh, should probably go back to my room, though.”
The warmth evaporates. “Right.”
I pause. He agreed too quickly. “If you’re okay.”
He gives a sharp nod. “I told you I don’t need you to take care of me, Opie.”
His words hit like a sudden, cool breeze.
“Right. Okay. Good.” I slip out of bed, creating space between us, and make my way toward the door.
“Hey, I, uh, might go stay at Mom’s for a while,” he says. “Cory and I talked about it, and we’ll probably rotate checking in on the place until she’s home.”
I watch him. This should be what I want. Finally, I’ll have the apartment to myself. The privacy. The quiet. But strangely…the thought of him leaving makes me feel like I’m losing oxygen.
“If that’s what you want,” I say softly. When he doesn’t deny it, I add, “Honestly, I’d feel better having someone out there with Mom anyway. I don’t like her being alone.”
He runs a hand across his chin. “You’re worried someone did this to Mom. Like they did to Ruth.”
My nod is small and unsure. “It sounds ridiculous, but yes. I’m scared someone is doing this, coming after them one by one. The man in the blue truck, maybe.”
The moment lingers, teeming with fear that feels heavy and real.
“They’re three little old ladies,” Will says, but it’s not in a dismissive way. It’s more like…he’s considering. “What would anyone want with them? They don’t have any money.”
“I know.” Finally grateful to have someone listen, I pull out his desk chair and take a seat.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about this. Maybe they’re after the land.
I mean, they own five acres. It’s not a tiny amount.
And all the properties around theirs have been developed into subdivisions.
Someone could put twenty houses where they just have three. ”
His lips brush together. “Maybe, but it’s not like Clinton’s real estate market is booming. I can’t see their land being worth killing over.”
He’s right. It was a far-fetched theory, but it’s one that’s floating around in my brain.
“My other thought—and stay with me here, because I fully realize this sounds crazy—is what if they’re being targeted for something they did? Someone they hurt?”
“What, you mean like they killed someone at a party years ago, and that person’s long-lost brother is back for revenge?
” A wry smile twists his lips. “Sorry, bad joke, but come on. That sounds like the plot to one of those thrillers you’re always reading, not real life.
Our moms may not have been saints before us, but I highly doubt they were out there tormenting their classmates. ”
“You suggest something then,” I say, irritated by his quick dismissal.
“It’s kind of up to us to figure it out.
Mom’s been no help. She believes it was all an accident, but I don’t.
It can’t have been. Not now. Ruth’s death was hard enough to understand, but Margie getting hurt so soon after?
It can’t be a coincidence. We can figure this out.
I know we can. And then we can go right back to hating each other. I just need to keep them safe.”
His face goes very still. I watch him weighing what I’ve said. He tilts his head to the side. “Don’t do that. We both know I quit hating you a long time ago. I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”
Something twists in my stomach. “Liar.”
He rolls his eyes, looking away, but it’s with a hint of a smile. “Believe what you want.”
“You haven’t given me a reason to believe otherwise.”
“Haven’t I?” He runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “I don’t know. Maybe we just like to piss each other off. Maybe that’s our thing.”
“Because no one’s allowed to be mean to me except you, right?
That’s what you said,” I remind him. “That’s why you punched Banks and why you were mad at Cory and why you’ve done all the other stupid shit you’ve done.
Because you’ve decided you just get to keep hurting me.
It’s fun for you. But friends aren’t mean to each other. And they aren’t jealous.”
His gaze locks on mine. “That’s why I punched Banks,” he repeats. His eyes are narrow, thoughtful. “That’s what you think?”
“You were jealous. You didn’t want me to be happy. You’ve never wanted me to be happy. I saw your hand, and I saw his bruise. And right after, you dropped the volunteer program and quit talking to me. I didn’t need a statistics degree to put it together.”
His face goes soft with bitter laughter. “And you never asked him about it?”
“He told me he walked into his door.”
His head goes back with a slow nod, chin drawn up. “Well, that’s good to know.”
“Care to defend yourself? To tell me I’m wrong?” I stand up from the chair, letting out a long, shaky breath.
His eyes follow me as I move, but his expression stays still, unchanging.
This is all too much right now. I can’t do it. I can’t fight with him. I don’t have time.
“Forget it, Will.” We couldn’t be fake friends back then. How could I ever think we’d make it as real ones now? How could I ever think we could work together on this? “Good luck at your mom’s. I’ll let you know when I’ve found my new place.”
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me walk out the door. When I close it behind me, my chest is heavy with all the things we didn’t say.